


a delicate balance

by Jelly



Series: delicate [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-09-01 13:06:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20258569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jelly/pseuds/Jelly
Summary: Brokering peace between Xadia and the Human Kingdoms comes first. That’s something even Sarai had come to understand a long, long time ago.(Or the follow up toa delicate arrangementanda delicate conditionthat exists because I have no self control).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic literally does not have time to exist but I have no self control and apparently I hate myself so I guess the _delicate_ series is a trilogy now??
> 
> I am aware that Ezraanya has no canon basis (it doesn't even have a tag on AO3) and I fought myself SO MUCH about writing this but yknow what? Fuck it. It's a rare pair that I will fight everyone on and I just really think they'd be great friends and that their relationship can be exploited for drama, ok? Is that so bad???
> 
> In any case, I hope you guys enjoy! Here's hoping for three completed fics for three!

prologue

  
  
  


Cyra’s nice in the summer.

It’s probably one Sarai’s favourite places on this side of the border. She’s pretty well-travelled for someone so young, but the peace and quiet here is something even she could never grow tired of. It’s only a little town. The politics are simple and uncomplicated, and it’s nice to see Mum and Dad relax every once in a while.

Sarai thinks it’s good for them.

She gets it. Being ambassadors - and the Prince and Princess of Katolis, no less - sounds  _ hard _ and it’s relatively rare that they get time off. There’s always some treaty to oversee, or some negotiation they have to be present at; too many expectations and formalities and customs they have to adhere to - sometimes it’s just nice to see Mum without tension in her back, and Dad without strain in his smile.

She wishes they could just stay put sometimes. There’s a cottage in Katolis they only sometimes use, and Runaan and Tinker have even offered for them to stay in their home - it’s too quiet without them, Tinker says, and they don’t visit enough - but brokering peace between Xadia and the Human Kingdoms comes first, and that’s something even Sarai had come to understand a long,  _ long  _ time ago.

She’s a few months off her fifteenth birthday now. 

People on both sides of the border still look at her funny. They blink at her ears - round like Dad’s - and at her horns - slanted towards the back of her head, like Mum’s - and although it’s been a long time since any of it really mattered, it still catches people by surprise.

“It shouldn’t,” Mum had told her when she was younger. They were in Ahlon. She was eight, and there were children who thought she looked strange. Mum’s smile was sad, but there was understanding in her eyes as she tucked the brown of Sarai’s hair behind the gentle curve of her ears. “You’re just different,” she’d said. “And different isn’t the same as  _ bad. _ ”

“They said my ears were ugly,” Sarai had murmured.

Mum had chuckled at her. “You’re still the prettiest little moonbeam to me.” She’d kissed her forehead then, and held her ‘til her sniffles settled and her eyelids grew heavy, and in the morning, Dad taught her a new rune - one that conjured the illusion of a great glowing spider that sent those kids running for good.

At least here in Cyra, the elves have grown used to her. As much as Tinker disagrees, she and Mum and Dad visit often enough that most of the townspeople know her by name. She even spent all of last summer here - it’d taken a  _ lot _ to convince Mum of it, but Sarai got her way in the end. It was a good summer. Probably the only thing that would have made it better was if Lessa and Terryn could have come to stay too, but Sarai supposes even now that would have been having her cake and eating it too. 

They’d ridden into town early this evening. Tinker had dinner ready for them while Dad disappeared to take the horses to the stalls around the back, and already, Mum looked relieved. 

“Long journey, then?” Tinker had asked, his grin pleased and lopsided.

“Little bit,” snorted Mum, hugging him and Runaan in turn. “It’s just good to be back.”

They’d settled in. Runaan had Moonberry surprise waiting for them in the oven for dessert (Sarai had half of it on her own, much to her parents’ chagrin). Now she’s sitting on the steps of the back porch, mug of tea in hand while the fireflies in the meadow behind Runaan and Tinker’s house blink cheerfully at her in the night.

“What’s the plan now, then?” she hears Tinker ask. “Not leaving again too soon, I hope.”

“We’ll probably stay the week,” says Dad. “But we wanted to be back in Katolis in time for the festival. There’s usually a ball every year we have to make an appearance at, but we won’t have to leave until the end of the week at the earliest.”

“Taking your time for once, I see,” says Runaan mildly. Sarai hears him slurp a little at his own tea. He pauses for a moment. “There’s been some talk,” he adds. “We’ve… overheard some of the human merchants that pass by here. Is it true your King’s to marry soon?”

Mum snorts into her tea at that. “They’ve been bothering Ez about that for years,” she scoffs. Sarai imagines she’s probably waving them off. “They just want him to produce heirs. Which I still don’t really understand when he’s named Callum -”

“That’s  _ different _ ,” chastises Dad, like they’ve had this discussion a million times. In all fairness, they probably have. Sarai’s eavesdropped on them talking about this more than once. “An heir presumptive isn’t the same as a true blood heir. Don’t get me wrong - it’s nobody’s business but Ez’s whether he chooses to marry or not, but from a certain standpoint, I can see why Opeli and the rest of the council are getting antsy.”

Mum bristles. “We’re not at war anymore, there’s no need for them to be pushy about it.”

“Ez isn’t a kid anymore either, and he can’t put it off forever.” Dad pauses. Sarai can practically hear him thinking from all the way out here. “I think we all know why he doesn’t want to get married anyway.”

“And that is?” asks Runaan.

Another pause. Sarai wonders if Mum and Dad are doing that thing again, where they look at each other and have a full conversation without saying - or even signing - anything. 

“Aanya,” says Dad at last.

Sarai stifles a snort into her tea. There’s no secret there. Not to them, at least. She’s barely fifteen and even she knows that there’s…  _ something _ between them Uncle Ez won’t talk about. He’s not stupid - he knows exactly what it is, but he won’t admit to it either. 

They’re just friends, he says. In any case, he’s young, and he’s healthy - producing heirs right now isn’t a priority, especially when he’s got Dad assuming the role of his heir presumptive. He pretends it’s nothing. He grins and jokes and brushes it off, and sometimes it’s hard to tell if he’s faking it or ignoring the issue outright. Sarai wishes he wouldn’t - he doesn’t fool her, and he certainly doesn’t fool her parents.

“Aanya?” she hears Tinker say. “The Queen of Duren?  _ That _ Aanya?”

“There’s only one,” snorts Mum, although it sounds more rueful than anything else. “It’s… complicated,” she says carefully. “There’s a lot of politics around it and… I think maybe the longer he stalls, the less he has to think about it.”

“I don’t understand,” says Tinker. “What’s the problem, exactly? They’re the same age, they’re both ruling monarchs, they  _ both _ need heirs, as far as I know - what’s stopping them?”

“Well…” begins Dad. “ _ Heirs _ . It’s not like here. Katolis and Duren are two separate states - Ez governs one, and Aanya governs the other. Say they  _ do _ get married - if they have a kid, which kingdom does it get? Duren? Katolis? Both? Neither? Does Ez give up his throne or does Aanya? I know, okay, it sounds stupid, but it’s not fair to either of their people to leave them without a leader.”

“But isn’t that what you’re for?”

Dad says nothing for a moment. Sarai has a suspicion he might be shaking his head. “I’m a last resort,” he says. “If - if anything happens to Ez before he can produce an heir,  _ then _ I step in. Otherwise, I’m not appropriate.”

“He’s put himself in a bit of a bind, hasn’t he?” says Runaan mildly. “What do  _ you  _ think, Sarai?”

Sarai jumps. She stares at the last dregs of her tea, guilty grimace crossing her face, but when she peeks around the corner, no one looks even a little surprised that she’s there to begin with.

Mum rolls her eyes, lips twitching upwards in amusement. Dad’s smirk is knowing and unexasperated. Runaan and Tinker look at her like they expected nothing less. Sarai grins at them all, a little sheepish and a little embarrassed, but she gets to her feet anyway, empty cup between her hands. “How’d you know?”

“You’re gonna have to try a little harder than that to fool us,” says Dad, beckoning her forward. “What do you reckon? Think there’s a way out of this for Uncle Ez?”

Sarai shrugs. She knows the nuances and complexities of being a ruling monarch almost as well as Mum and Dad do, but to her, it’s all just stupid. There’s too much fluff - too much pomp and circumstance around things that  _ don’t matter.  _ Personally, she doesn’t even like the fact that Dad is Uncle Ez’s heir presumptive because it means that she’s,  _ technically _ , second in line for the Katolan throne. Lessa and Terryn have been her friends since before she can even remember and even  _ they _ bow to her because of a  _ technicality _ . 

“I don’t really know,” she says at last. “I think Uncle Ez deserves to be happy, though. If he wants to stall because he doesn’t want to marry someone he doesn’t know, or because he’d rather marry someone that he  _ can’t _ , I don’t really think he can be blamed for it.”

“You’re right there,” chuckles Mum. “Do you want some more tea?”

Sarai shakes her head, relieved that that’s the end of it. She’s not particularly in the mood to discuss something so complicated today. She’d rather liked just watching the fireflies. “I’m good. Although I might go up to bed, if that’s okay. It’s been a long day.”

“Whatever you like, lovely,” says Dad with a smile. “Sleep tight.”

Sarai smiles back. “‘Night,” she says. “Thanks for dinner, Tinker. And the Moonberry surprise was okay, I guess.” She smirks at Runaan, but he only smirks back.

“Don’t eat half of it on your own if you hate it so much,” he teases. “Goodnight, my dear.”

There’s silence as she heads upstairs. Sarai half-wonders if they think she might be listening again, but she hears Runaan joke as she steps onto the landing. 

“Such disrespect,” he snorts. “Wonder where she gets it from.”

“You, probably,” says Mum without missing a beat.

Their hushed laughter fills the dining room, and Sarai snorts to herself as she closes her bedroom door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’ve been very good at avoiding this conversation," says Opeli, her voice stern, "but with respect, Your Majesty, you can’t keep ignoring this forever.”

i.

  


The ball and the festival have sort of become an annual thing. This year, he didn’t even have to suggest it - a representative for the Common Folk had come to ask him about it personally, and in perfect honesty, Ez was thrilled. It’d been an excuse the first time he’d held it - peace is better forged in celebration than anything else, and admittedly, that first time he’d timed it so he could announce Callum and Rayla’s engagement (assuming they agreed) all those years ago. He’s glad that it’s become a thing all on its own - a tradition of sorts, that both elves and humans have come to share, and even though they’re still about a week out, the city’s already abuzz.

The flags are hung, and the streamers are up, and he’s received RSVPs from most of his guests - regulars, at this point - already. Spirits are high within the castle and amongst the Common Folk, but there _ is _ just… _ one thing _. 

Opeli’s hard gaze from across the councilroom doesn’t let Ez forget it.

She waits until the meeting closes, and until Ez dismisses the rest of the high council before she addresses it. Ez stops her with a hand before she even opens her mouth. 

“We’ve talked about this, Opeli.”

“No, we _ haven’t _,” she says, her voice stern. “You’ve been very good at avoiding this conversation, but with respect, Your Majesty, you can’t keep ignoring this forever.”

“I’m not _ ignoring _ it,” says Ez pointedly, but he glances away anyway, guilty because he absolutely is. “But there are other, more pressing matters to deal with right now.”

“More pressing than establishing a line of succession?”

“I have Callum for that.”

“That’s not the _ same _ , Your Majesty, and you _ know _ that.” Opeli lets out a sigh, tired and so, _so done _ with his refusal to talk about this. Ez can’t even blame her. He’s not a child anymore, and he hasn’t been for a _ very _ long time - he’s running out of reasons to avoid this conversation, and even _ he _ knows that he can’t keep this up. “At least _ consider _ the idea of finding a spouse at this ball, Your Majesty,” she says. “Ideally one who can provide you with _ heirs. _”

Ez scowls at her. “You know that there’s a lot more to this marriage thing than producing heirs, right? You know that marriage tends to involve, y'know, _ love _.”

“You know better than anyone that that’s a luxury you can’t afford.” Opeli lets out a huff, her frustration with him obvious in the way she massages at the bridge of her nose. “My King,” she says at last, gentler this time. “You’ve had longer than most to adjust to this, but you’ve run out of time now. You can’t ignore this any longer.”

“I’m _ not _ ignoring it,” snaps Ez again, but he tempers himself and relents. Opeli’s only doing her job. He can’t be mad at her for that. He sighs, trying to be patient - trying to be the cool and composed king his father was - and lifts the circlet off his head to run a tired hand through his hair. “I get it,” he mutters. “I know what’s at stake here, and it’s unfair to the people of Katolis for me to keep putting it off. But…” He trails off awkwardly, unsure what he even wants to say. The truth is that this isn’t because he _ doesn’t _ want to get married - it’s that he _ does _ , and he _ can’t. _

Opeli reads it on his face. Her eyes soften at last, and when she speaks again, her voice is soft. “She’s not an option, Your Majesty,” she says quietly. “You know that.”

He _ does _ know that. He knows it so well that he’s made a concerted effort to avoid talking about it since he became of age. He sighs. “Just… give me time to talk to my brother,” he says finally. “He’ll be here within the week. We can talk about it then. Okay?”

Opeli purses her lips. She’s not entirely happy with it, Ez can tell that much, but there’s understanding on her face too. In the end, she bows. “Of course, Your Majesty,” she says at last. “As long as we _ do _ talk about it.”

Ez nods, a reluctant grimace crossing his face. “We will. I mean that this time.”

x

He does mean it, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think about, particularly not when the envoys from Duren arrive that same afternoon. They’re hard to miss, even from the balcony attached to his study. The pale blue of their carriages catch his eye long before the horns sound as they approach the castle gates, and Ez watches, following the line of blue and gold as it parts the sea of his citizens until he spots the carriage at the end. 

In spite of the circumstances, the twitch in his lips is difficult to suppress. It’s rare that Aanya herself attends functions like these, but she makes an effort for _ this _ ball every year. It’s pretty standard behaviour for her to arrive early, but a week is a little out of the ordinary, even if he _ has _ been expecting it. She’d mentioned it in her last letter - something about needing some time off whether her advisors agree with her or not. Personally, Ez finds it funny. Arriving early to ‘assist in festival preparations’ is hardly ‘time off’, and, more than anything, it sounds like an _ excuse _. Still, he’s not about to complain. 

It’s been a while, and he likes her company. Who is he to try and stop her?

He makes his way down to the gates to wait for her with as much maturity as he can manage, but his grin only grows wider as her carriage pulls up in front of the main entrance. He clasps his hands behind him, his shoulders back, his back ramrod straight - the epitome of a dignified king waiting to greet an equally dignified queen - but there’s a spark of mischief in his eye - one that she matches when she opens the carriage door.

“Your Majesty,” greets Ez with a low bow.

Aanya’s lips pull into a smirk. “Your Majesty,” she returns with a curtsey. 

It’s an old game. They don’t call each other by their titles anymore, but it’s always fun to see who breaks formality first. It’s usually Ezran, and today, it’s no different.

He snorts at her, cheeks puffing with mirth, suddenly fourteen again in his heart. “Where’s my hug then?”

Aanya laughs. It’s pretty and bell-like, just like it was last time she was here, and it puts warmth in Ez’s cheeks in spite of the way he’s grown used to it over all these years. The time has been kind to her, the stress of ruling a kingdom like Duren showing only in the creases at the corners of her eyes when she smiles. She steps towards him, still dignified, still unfairly majestic, and pulls him into an embrace he hadn’t realized he’d missed. “It’s been too long,” she says into his shoulder, and Ez chuckles.

“You can just visit like a normal person, you know. At this rate, you probably see Callum, Rayla, and Sarai more often than you see _ me. _”

“I mean, _ you _ could visit _ me _. That goes both ways, you know.” She pulls away from him, impish smile gracing her lips. 

“Touche,” laughs Ez, offering her his arm. “How was the trip?”

She grins at him, her fingers light against his sleeve. “_ Long _ ,” she says. “Needlessly so. It would have been faster if I’d just come by myself but… you know what it’s like. I’m sure _ your _ staff don’t like letting _ you _out of their sight either.” She shakes her head and stifles a snort into the back of her other hand. It’s a rare show of not-so-ladylike behaviour - closer to a slip in her composure than anything else - but Ez only grins.

“What you need is a jelly tart,” he says, leading her up the steps and into the entrance hall. “Maybe some tea too. I figure we’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“Yes,” says Aanya. Her smile falters just a little. “We do.”

x

Sarai recognises the horns the moment she hears them. They’re only a little way out from the city gates now, and despite the fact that she only ever hears them once a year, she knows exactly what they are and what they mean. She tugs on Kolibri’s reigns, slowing her stallion until she can turn and face Mum and Dad as they lag behind. “I think Aunt Aanya beat us here this year!”

“That’s different,” says Mum mildly. She eases Vorobey forward, leaning a little to scratch the spot just behind her ears. She’s getting on in age - she’s not as quick or as graceful as she once was, but Mum still likes her all the same. “She’s early.”

“Ez _ did _ say she wanted to help with preparations this year,” says Dad, but he catches Mum’s eye, his eyebrows knitting together in a thoughtful frown. There’s a question in the air that he doesn’t need to actually ask - one obvious even to Sarai, especially while their conversation with Runaan and Tinker is still fresh in her mind. In all honesty, she’s wondering too - if Aunt Aanya’s real intentions might centre around the problem she and Uncle Ez have found themselves in - but the answer to that isn’t all the way out here.

She shakes Kolibri’s reigns impatiently, eager to see Uncle Ez, and Aunt Aanya, and Lessa, and Terryn, and even more eager to be _ home _ for the week. “Shouldn’t we hurry, then?”

Mum raises an eyebrow at her. “You’re in a rush,” she comments. “The castle’s not going anywhere, you know. We’ll get there in time.”

“You guys are taking _ forever _,” whines Sarai. 

“Not on purpose,” chuckles Dad. He combs his fingers through Kuritsa’s mane fondly - a reminder that she’s getting old too, and that she and Vorobey can only move so fast now. He shoots a sidelong glance at Mum and purses his lips. “Why don’t you go on ahead?” he says after a moment. “We can meet you there.”

Sarai swells excitedly, but Mum cuts her off with a frown.

“Not by herself.”

“She’ll be okay,” assures Dad, waving her off. “Won’t you, Sarai?”

“_ Callum. _”

Dad gives her a _ look. _ Between the two of them, Mum’s always a little more overbearing, and to some extent, Sarai understands. She knows the story - Uncle Ez had told her all about the circumstances of her birth when she was younger - but she’s not a kid anymore either, and Mum needs to calm down. She _ will _ be fine. It’s not like she can’t defend herself if anything goes awry - Mum had personally made sure of that.

“Come off it, Mum,” she says, tugging Kolibri around with a grin. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you both later!” She shakes Kolibri’s reigns without waiting for further permission, clicks her tongue at the stallion and urges him into a gallop - she thinks she hears Mum protest after her, but it’s too late. She’s off like a shot, the wind in her hair, the reigns secure in her hands, her travelling cloak fluttering behind her in the warm spring breeze.

The dirt road beneath them is worn and familiar. Sarai knows it so well she could probably steer Kolibri through it with her eyes closed, in spite of the way it meanders through the wood like a great winding snake. When the city gates come into view, she whoops a greeting at the guards, grinning at the way they scramble out of the way for her and Kolibri -

“Slow down, Princess!” they call at her, but she only laughs.

“I’d rather not!” she hollers. She and Kolibri race under the portcullis, her grin bright on her features, and she tugs him to a canter only as he clops into the crowded market. The Common Folk part for her - some even bow, which makes her grimace - but she eases Kolibri through the sea of people, intent on dropping by _ The Wishbone _ on her way to the castle.

Lessa should be there today. If she’s lucky, Terryn might be too, but she’ll see him later regardless. He’s training to be part of Uncle Ez’s Crownguard now, so he’ll be around one way or another. The cobblestones clip and clop under Kolibri’s hooves as he slows in an effort to avoid knocking anyone over, and when the battered hanging sign of _ The Wishbone _ comes into view, she hops off him at last and tugs him to the stalls by the side of the shop.

She peers through the back window curiously, and the corners of her lips tug into a mischievous smirk when she spots Lessa chatting up a pretty elf girl by the counter. She snickers to herself and ducks under the window to scribble a rune into the air.

_ “Invisibilia _,” she whispers, and when her fingers become transparent, she waits until the elf girl leaves before sneaks into the shop as the door closes behind her. 

Lessa’s grin is cocky. Inwardly, Sarai wonders if she’s been spending a little too much time with Uncle Soren, and it would be a waste of an opportunity if she _ didn’t _take the chance to scare it off her face. She steps towards her, her footsteps light, her travelling cloak hitched off the ground to keep it from brushing dust off the floorboards, and when Lessa settles behind the counter again, Sarai leaps, her invisibility fading when she slams a hand against the bench.

“_ Boo _!”

Lessa shrieks. She topples backwards with an undignified yelp, her book and her chair clattering loudly against the floor. Sarai _ laughs _, her sides aching as Lessa scowls at her and pushes herself back onto her feet.

“_ Sarai!” _ she snaps. Then she blinks, and a grin splits her features. “Sarai!”

“Hi Lessa,” greets Sarai, her smirk cheeky and a wide. “Got a new girlfriend I should know about?”

Lessa has the decency to flush. “She’s just a friend,” she grumbles, picking her book off the ground and dusting her surcoat off. “What are you, eight? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough.” Sarai grins at her, stepping around the counter to help her with the fallen chair. “Did Uncle Soren give you those tips on how to pick up?”

Lessa scowls at her and swats her arm. “She’s _ just a friend _ ,” she snarls. “Don’t be a brat. Princess or not, I _ will _ end you.”

“First of all, _ don’t _ call me that. Second, you _ want _ to face the wrath of my _ mother? _” Sarai rolls her eyes at her. “Yeah. Good luck. How’re things?”

Lessa lets out a huff. Her hair’s a little longer, and she’s grown a little taller - she’s a full head taller than Sarai now, horns and all - but the gold in her eyes is still the same. She regards Sarai with a sort of exasperation - one that she’s grown fairly used to given all the trouble she routinely gets in and of - but in the end, she tugs her into a hug and grins against her hair.

“The same,” she says. “Still trying to convince mom and dad to let me go to Lantha to study, but that’s not new. But Queen Aanya came through just before? That’s kind of interesting right? She’s really early this year.”

“I heard,” admits Sarai, prying herself out of the embrace. “Apparently she wanted to help with this year’s festivities but there’s… I dunno. It’s kinda complicated and even then, I’m not really sure if that’s what’s really happening. Honestly, it’s just more reasons being royalty sucks.”

“Oh?” Lessa raises an eyebrow at her. “What do you know, exactly?”

Sarai hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Lessa. It’s that she wants to be _ sure _. The last thing she wants is to start rumours about Uncle Ez and Aunt Aanya. They have enough to deal with right now, and there’s too much danger here of being overheard. She shakes her head. “Nothing yet. Nothing people aren’t already talking about, anyway.” She shrugs. “I’ll find out later, probably. Mum and dad’ll probably have a talk to Uncle Ez about it tonight.”

“Hm.” Lessa snorts a little. “Not that I don’t enjoy the gossip, but you really have to stop eavesdropping on your parents’ conversations. It’s not Princess-like _ at all. _”

“Oh, but you _ love _ the gossip,” teases Sarai, ignoring the jab at her title. “You _ live _ off it. It’s how you draw those girls _ in.” _

“Stop it.”

“How else will you pick up without my ever-lasting font of political intrigue?”

“Now you’re just being annoying.” Lessa rolls her eyes at her and tosses the polishing rag on the till at her face. She pitches her voice up, mocking and pretend-polite. “Don’t you have other things to do, Your Highness? Surely His Majesty would want to see you now that you’re in the city.”

“_ You _ stop it.”

“I’m only being courteous.” She throws in a curtsey for good measure, smirking at the way Sarai scowls. “I’m so humbled by your visit to my parents’ shop, Princess, it’s such an _ honour _ to be visited by someone of such _ nobility _.”

“_ Enough _ ,” snaps Sarai. She throws her arms up in defeat and sighs. “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. I’ll come by to catch up _ properly _ when Terryn’s free.”

“As you wish, Your Highness,” teases Lessa with another curtsey. 

It’s obviously a joke, but Sarai grimaces anyway and tosses the polishing rag back at her. “_ Bye, _” she drawls, waving her fingers lazily as she makes for the door. “Oh - and the festival.”

“Same arrangement as always,” says Lessa with a grin. “You just gotta find a way to get Terryn out of his shift. But you know. You’re the Princess. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” She winks, a smirk lifting the corners of her lips, and Sarai laughs, for once not irritated by the use of her title.

“I’m sure I will,” she chuckles, before she leaves the shop and tugs Kolibri back out into the street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so far in the future that it's screwing me up haha god i really hope Ez is still himself


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What I wouldn’t give just to not deal with this for a day.”

ii.

  


“You’re not happy with me, are you?”

The question comes out a little sheepish - a little _ guilty _, even - but it’s better than the terse silence hanging between them. Callum urges Kuritsa forward; brings her in line with Vorobey until he can nudge Rayla’s knee with his. She only huffs, avoiding his gaze with a grumpy pout set on her lips.

“Rayla.”

She bristles. “You shouldn’t have let her go alone.”

_ “Rayla. _” Despite himself, Callum lets out a chuckle. He supposes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Sarai is every bit as stubborn and precocious as they both were once upon a time, but Rayla’s never had an easy time with her tendency to disappear. He’s pretty certain Balan had something to do with that, even if all that happened more than a decade ago. He reaches for her, untangling one of her hands from Vorobey’s reigns to press a kiss against her palm. “She’s not a kid anymore, you know.”

“She’s _ fourteen _ -”

“She’s the same age I was when Ez and I went with you to take Zym home.” He squeezes her fingers patiently and tugs them both to a stop. “She’ll be _ okay. _ You _ know _ she will be. _ You _made sure of it. Don’t you trust her?”

Rayla breathes out a sigh. She still won’t look at him, but he’s close enough to her now that he can see the flicker of guilt in her eyes. “I do,” she mutters. “I just - I don’t _ mean _ to be annoying about it but -” She pauses, unsure exactly how to word what she wants to say.

“You worry anyway?” 

Rayla glances at him at last, if only for a moment and from the corner of her eye, but Callum meets her gaze anyway, understanding in his eyes and patience in his smile. 

“I worry too,” he admits. “All the time. But she’s growing up and she won’t thank us for fussing over her. We just have to trust that we taught her well enough not to do anything stupid.”

“_ She’s _ not the one I don’t trust.” She stares at the horn of Vorobey’s saddle, lips turned downwards in a stubborn frown. Callum almost wants to laugh - there’s so much of her in their daughter that he wonders a second time why he’s even a little bit surprised. 

He squeezes her hand once more, enjoying the fit of her calloused fingertips against his palm as he brings them to his lips for another kiss. “You can still trust her to know better,” he offers. “And that you taught her well enough to defend herself if she ever _ did _ find herself in trouble.” He smiles at her; tries to reassure her with more than just words that it _ will _ be fine, and that it’s perfectly _ natural _to worry about their little girl and her penchant for trouble - it’s just important not to let it get in the way. 

“And if she can’t?” murmurs Rayla. “Get herself out of the trouble, I mean.”

“Then we’ll be there,” says Callum. “If she needs us, that’s where we’ll be. For now, we just have to trust her. Okay?”

A pause settles between them. There’s tension in Rayla’s shoulders, and while it doesn’t _ really _ go away, she slumps in Vorobey’s saddle and squeezes Callum’s hand in return at long, long last. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles. 

“Don’t apologise,” chuckles Callum. “She’ll be okay, Rayla.”

“I know.” Rayla takes a breath. She straightens in the saddle - fixes her eyes on a point on the road ahead of them, Vorobey’s reigns tight in her fist, but when she looks at him this time, she smiles. It’s only a little one, and there’s apprehension in it still, but it makes warmth bloom in Callum’s chest all the same.

It’s strange to have come this far. Sometimes, it still hits him like a brick. The world is in the best place it’s been in a _ very _ long while, and his own is so complete that, at times, it doesn’t feel _ real _ \- but Rayla’s hand is firm within his, her touch like an anchor to this fantastic reality, and his doubt fades with the warmth of her fingers as she tugs them away to shake Vorobey’s reigns.

“Well, if we’re going to meet her there, we’d better get a move on,” she says. “Best not keep her or Ez waiting, hey?”

“Right as always,” chuckles Callum. He clicks his tongue, and then they’re moving again, along the winding road in the wood and towards the castle as it looms overhead.

x

The staircase of the North Tower is an odd place for a member of the Crownguard to stand guard, but that’s where Terryn’s stationed today according to Uncle Soren, so that’s where Sarai goes. Part of her wonders if he or Uncle Ezran had put him there on purpose, knowing she and Mum and Dad’d be back within the week, and that she’d find her way up there sooner or later. She supposes it saves them the trouble of coming to find her when she eventually disappears, and it saves her the trouble of scouring the rest of the castle to find Terryn, so, really, she can’t complain.

She grins when she spots him. He’s always been a bit paler than his sister, and he looks like Aunt Eleni with his red-brown hair and his grey eyes, the only obvious hints of his father in his horns and pointed ears and the light brown of his skin. His armour sort of dwarfs him - it fits okay, but he hasn’t _ quite _ grown into it just yet. She supposes he’d look a lot more intimidating if it did, but as it is, it just highlights his relative youth.

His lips twitch as her footsteps echo over the flagstones, and he _ almost _ steps out of line to greet her but remembers his place at the last minute. He bows as she passes instead - the way he’s supposed to, but in a way that only makes Sarai groan.

“How many times do we have to talk about this Terryn?”

She hears him snort before he straightens. “Always once more, Princess.”

“_ Terryn.” _

“My apologies, Princess.”

“Terryn, I swear to the Moon and Stars -”

“_ All right, _” he says, dropping formalities at last. His shoulders slump; his grip on his halpert slackens just a bit, and the smirk on his lips gives way to a smile - one with a sort of shyness that soothes her irritation and tugs at the corners of her lips instead. “You’re back.”

“Clearly,” says Sarai, her voice cheeky and playful. “Been busy?”

“If you call standing in one spot for hours at a time ‘busy’, sure,” snorts Terryn. “My schedule’s been _ packed. _”

“So I see,” laughs Sarai. “Guess I’ll just wander off to the tower all by myself then. Considering you’re too busy to keep me company.”

He falters. “I - uh - I was kidding. I’m not supposed to leave my post.”

“Sure you’re not,” teases Sarai, starting up the spiral staircase with a shrug. “No worries, then. You can just stay down here.”

“_ Sarai.” _

She smirks at him but doesn’t turn. “It sure would suck if something happened to me though,” she drawls. “Because I was up there. On my own. And the closest member of the Crownguard was all the way down here, too afraid to leave his post.” She waves her fingers lazily, enjoying his panic and his indecision. There’s a part of her that supposes she shouldn’t tease him so, but there’s no fun in that, and some days, it’s almost too easy. “Bye Terryn,” she adds, making no effort to hide the grin in her voice.

_ “Sarai,” _ he hisses again. “This isn’t _ funny.” _

“Well, I mean, it is to _ me _ ,” Sarai snorts at him and tosses a grin at him over her shoulder. “You’re a member of the Crownguard, aren’t you? I’m _ technically _ also the Crown, so if you stay down here, then I guess you’re not really doing your job.”

He scowls at her. “You _ hate _ that title, you’re not _ allowed _ to use it against me like this.”

“I’m the Princess,” she says sardonically. “I can do what I like.” She rounds the corner and waits. The silence at the top of the stairwell presses heavily against her ears and, for a moment, she wonders if he actually _ will _ just stay at his post - but the tell-tale clanking of Crownguard armour sounds after her before long, and Sarai hides her giggle in the back of her wrist as Terryn appears in the hall.

“If I get pulled up for this, _ you’re _ taking responsibility for it,” he snaps.

Sarai’s grin widens. “You won’t get pulled up for it,” she chuckles, unlatching the trapdoor at the top of the stairs. “We both know Uncle Soren stationed you up here to make sure I wouldn’t disappear on them again. Pretty sure I’ve given him and Uncle Ez enough heart attacks about it for a lifetime - good to see they’re learning.”

Terryn only frowns at her. “Yeah, no offense, but you should _ probably _ stop doing that anyway. You’re second-in-line for the throne and everything, and if something goes wrong -”

“Nothing’ll go wrong,” says Sarai stubbornly. She shuts the trapdoor behind him with a huff, her irritation returning with the reminder. “I can look after myself. And if there ever is a time I _ do _ need help… well. That’s what I’ve got _ you _ for, right?” She hops into an embrasure and settles, her feet dangling so precariously off the edge of the tower that Terryn actually drops his halpert and hovers awkwardly at her back, afraid she might fall.

“Well - yes -” he says, swallowing audibly. “Don’t go around tempting fate, though.”

She rolls her eyes at him. “You’ll go grey early if you stress so much. You need to relax.”

“How anyone could possibly do that with _ you _ around, I don’t know.”

_ That _ makes Sarai laugh. When she turns, she finds him flushing, his eyes turned to the ground, obviously embarrassed by the callousness of his words.

“My apologies,” he mutters. “I - I forgot myself, Princess.”

“_ Terryn _.”

“Sorry.” He offers her an awkward smile, more apologetic than any verbal apology, his flush closer to bashful this time, instead of embarrassed. “It’s been a little while, okay? I’m only ever allowed to call you Sarai to your face so - it might just take a little while to get used to, is all. It’s just - you are, first and foremost, the Princess and… it’s not my place.”

“I _ should _ just be your _ friend _,” grumbles Sarai. “We’ve known each other literally forever, Terryn. Just because you work here now, doesn’t mean those titles and rules come back into play.” She sighs, turning away from him to stare out over the city. “What I wouldn’t give just to not deal with this for a day.”

Behind her, Terryn starts. She can feel his eyes against her back; can almost see the frown that wrinkles his brow even though she doesn’t turn. She envies him and Lessa sometimes (all the time, if she’s being honest) - they live such normal lives, free from the trappings of palace life and the formalities of being the daughter of two ambassadors. There are days when she feels guilty for it - she loves her parents dearly, and she’s probably had a better childhood than both of them put together, but it’s also been one filled with other peoples’ expectations and traditions. She just wants room for her own, she thinks. That’s not such a big wish, is it?

“Y - Sarai -” Terryn heaves a sigh. His armour clanks together as he moves, and when Sarai turns again, he’s seated behind her, his back against the merlon. “What would you do?” he asks. “If you could, I mean.”

Sarai snorts to herself. “Leave, I think,” she answers quietly. “We could take Lessa to Lantha so she can study magic like she’s always wanted, and you and I -” She pauses, unsure how she’d intended to finish that sentence. “I dunno,” she says after a moment. “We could go somewhere_ not here_ y’know? Go someplace no one knows who I am and people aren’t bowing and tripping over themselves just because of some title. Sounds like it could be nice, right?”

Terryn lets out a rueful chuckle. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It does sound nice.”

“We could just do it,” mumbles Sarai. “We could just leave. Mum’d be _ furious _ but - we _ could.” _

She can practically hear the way he shakes his head. “You know why we can’t.”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I know.”

x

“Please tell me you didn’t actually say that.”

“No,” sighs Ezran. “I didn’t. I wanted to though.”

Aanya laughs at him. She squints her eyes shut and muffles the sound in her palm, but it echoes through the garden all the same. It’s just them this afternoon - Ez had cleared the vicinity the moment they walked in, and the closest member of his Crownguard is Soren who’s standing guard by the garden gates. It’s a relatively rare moment of privacy, and they both relish it. Ez probably doesn’t even get this much time to _ himself _, but at least with Aanya, he has the excuse of wanting to catch up with an old friend. He’s determined to make it last.

They’re talking about King Kasef. He’s always been an idiot, and that’s being polite. Ez had gone to Neolandia not too long ago in a bid to have him slacken the security at his borders for elves wanting to pass through. He’d said no, in spite of the fact that it’s been almost two decades since the war ended and there’s been no real trouble since. In his head, Ez had sworn at him and called him a slew of words that would have been _ very _ inappropriate at the time, but at least Aanya shares his sentiments and that makes up for it enough.

She picks the end off a jelly tart. Pops it neatly into her mouth and hums at the taste, and Ez makes a face.

“Just bite into it like a normal person?” he says, a little incredulously. 

“That’s not exactly proper.”

“Proper?” Ez snorts loudly, just to make a point. “The only proper way to eat a jelly tart is to stuff the whole thing in your mouth. That’s what it’s _ for.” _

“Oh?” Aanya’s eyes glint mischievously at him, a challenge in her smile. “Care to demonstrate, Your Majesty?”

“_ Gladly, _” says Ez, seizing one from the plate between them and shoving it whole into his mouth. The jam fills the inside of his cheeks and he almost chokes on the pastry, but Aanya hides her laughter in her hands and he decides that it’s totally worth it. “‘Ow many of thefe d’you fink I could fi’ in here?” 

“That’s disgusting,” giggles Aanya. “Please don’t try.”

“I reckon a’ leas’ free.”

“_ Ez.” _ She rolls her eyes at him, amused and patient, like a real adult with responsibilities and maturity. Ez wishes she wouldn’t, sometimes - even when she _ does _ agree to run off with a pile of jelly tarts, or sneak out of the castle for Sarai’s birthdays at _ The Wishbone _, she’s always the one to reel him back in and remind him of his place and title.

He swallows hugley, a pout tugging at his lips. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re too much,” she returns, smirking. “And you’re a mess.” She licks at her thumb and leans over their little table, swiping deftly at the little bit of jam at the corner of his lips.

Ez leans into her without even thinking about it. His cheeks warm under her touch, and not for the first time, he finds himself grateful that the darkness of his skin hides the redness that would otherwise be on his face. Her fingers linger, just for a moment - and then they’re gone, and she’s sitting back in her chair again, hands folded neatly on the table like they were never near him at all.

“What are we doing, Ez?” she asks quietly. 

“Having tea,” says Ez stubbornly, pouring them two fresh cups. “You know. Like friends.”

“We’re not really _ just friends _, are we?” 

Ez has no answer to that. He stares into his teacup for a moment, debating his answer because _ yes _ isn’t true, and _ no _ isn’t allowed. His heart aches and flutters within his ribs because he’s not sure how to respond at all, especially with Opeli’s words fresh in his mind -

_ She’s not an option, Your Majesty. You know that. _

“How’re things on that front?” he asks instead.

Aanya doesn’t meet his eyes. “My advisors want me to get married,” she murmurs. “I have until the end of the month to find… an alternative. But… otherwise…” she trails off. “I can’t avoid it forever, Ez,” she mutters. “I’m running out of time.”

She is. She’s not so young anymore, and if she puts it off any longer, she might not be able to produce an heir at all. Aanya’s not like him - she doesn’t have the luxury of a brother to be her heir presumptive - she has her regent and… that’s it. There’s no one else appropriate for the throne of Duren and that puts her entire kingdom in jeopardy should anything ever happen to her.

He shakes his head at her. “Don’t agree on anything yet,” he says, something like determination welling in his chest. “I have an idea. I just… need to talk to Callum first. Okay?”

She raises an eyebrow at him looking dubious - looking afraid to even _ hope _ \- but there’s trust in her eyes too, and in the end, she nods. “Okay.”

It’s little more than a tentative whisper, but it’s enough. 

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys ever write a fic where you spend most of the time going "wtf am i doing?" bc that's been me this whole fic so far
> 
> EDIT: Y'all Tumblr user @woo-cash is a bloody legend and has been doodling some scenes for this fic for funsies and anyway please go appreciate his [latest](https://woo-cash.tumblr.com/post/622647346420989952/she-picks-the-end-off-a-jelly-tart-pops-it-neatly) [pieces](https://woo-cash.tumblr.com/post/622700320013860864/more-adb-stuff-when-ez-makes-everybody), they're beautiful and I'm emo abt it


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s… something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HI TEAM!
> 
> Sorry for the delay! I got married last week and the last month has been a mad rush to get everything done and ready for the wedding. We had a lovely day, and your congrats on tumblr were much appreciated <3 you guys are honestly the loveliest readers anyone could ask for! Thanks for your patience!! Your regularly scheduled fic will now continue as per usual :D

iii.  


  


Callum and Rayla arrive in the early evening. 

Ez spots them from the balcony, the bright silver of Rayla’s hair unmistakable in the light of the setting sun. It’s been months since they were last here, but they haven’t changed much - they’re still both disgusting and in love, their fingers laced together between them as they tug the horses across the bailey. Callum’s in need of a haircut again, and there are tired lines under Rayla’s eyes that are visible even from all the way over here - but their smiles are the same. They’re still bright and happy to be home and Ez grins at them as he jogs down the stairs two at a time, leaving Aanya in his dust.

“Are you coming?” he calls over his shoulder.

Aanya only rolls her eyes at him, amused by his childlike eagerness. “One of us has to be pretend to be dignified.”

He blows a raspberry at her just to prove that it won’t be him.

He hurries across the bailey with quiet feet, dodging stablehands and muddy patches in the dirt. He’s never been particularly good at sneaking up on Callum, but it’s Rayla who catches him first. Her eyes flit towards him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, and she purposefully draws Callum’s attention to give Ez the opening he needs and -

He lunges. 

Tackles Callum around the waist. 

Callum manages a startled yelp, his eyes comically wide as he stumbles. The muddy ground rushes up to meet them and Ez knows that it’s unbecoming and that Opeli would disapprove, but he doesn’t care - Callum and Rayla are _ back _ and it’s hard to contain his excitement.

“You’re home!” he cries, forgetting, for a moment, his age and title. 

Callum sputters for a moment, but in the end, a grin splits his face and ruffles his brother’s hair. “We’re home,” he agrees, wiping mud off his chin. “Did you miss us or something?”

“Or something,” teases Ez, snickering first at him before he turns his smile to Rayla and matches her smirk. “How’ve you been?”

“Well enough,” says Rayla. She offers them her hands, looking both exasperated and amused by their antics. “Did Sarai get in okay?”

“‘Course she did,” says Ez. “She went up to the North Tower I think. It’s like she takes after you or something.”

Rayla lets out a breath. It’s subtle, but Ez knows her well enough now to know that she’s been holding that tension since Sarai hurried away. He doesn’t blame her at all. He remembers the circumstances of Sarai’s birth like it was yesterday. He waves her off, hoping his nonchalance reassures her at least a little before he tugs her into a hug too.

Rayla accepts it gratefully, unminding of the mud he gets on her clothes. “We’ve heard some things,” she says. The concern in her voice is obvious.

Ez shakes his head. “Everybody hears things,” he says. “Whether or not those things are true is a different story.”

“Are they?”

“Later,” says Ez firmly. He pulls away from her, enjoying the way he towers over both of them now. “We can catch up first, can’t we?”

“‘Course we can,” chuckles Rayla. Her eyes dart his shoulder, her smile softening as she sidesteps him in favour of greeting Aanya. “Your Majesty,” she says with a curtsey.

“You don’t have to do that,” says Aanya, a fine blush dusting her cheeks. “There are no formalities between friends, Princess.”

“Don’t call me Princess, then.” Rayla’s lips twitch upwards - a challenge of sorts for Aanya; a _ dare _ to call her by her name just _ once _\- but instead, Aanya laughs and curtseys back.

“Touche, I suppose.”

“One day,” snorts Callum. He sidesteps Ez too and bows. “How do you do, Your Majesty?”

“I’m very well, thank you,” she says, curtseying to Callum as well, ever the epitome of propriety.

It makes Ez sigh because he finds himself wishing once more that she _ wouldn’t. _ He’s not stupid. It’s more than just years of ingrained good manners now, when it’s painfully clear what the situation is, and when even Callum and Rayla treat her like she’s family. It’s her way of keeping her distance; of reminding him (and them) that whatever’s going on between them _ can’t _ exist. 

He shakes his head in the end. “Come on,” he says, clapping Callum and Rayla’s shoulders. “There’s a halfling teenager somewhere in the castle who’s probably hungry for dinner. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

x

The week passes in a blur. 

Mum and Dad spend it helping with preparations for the ball and festival, leaving Sarai free to wander the castle on her own. They give her odd jobs when they can find her - Dad put her in charge of overseeing table settings and seating when he found her sneaking away with an armload of jelly tarts the other day - but they leave her alone for the most part and, personally, she rather prefers it. She’s not so fond of bossing around even the castle staff, and the way they fuss and trip over themselves around her makes her scowl. She tries to disappear at every opportunity but it’s hard with Terryn always at her heels. It’s “to keep her out of trouble,” he says, but mostly she thinks it’s because Uncle Soren gave him very specific orders to not let her out of his sight. 

She supposes she doesn’t mind. If _ someone’s _ going to tail her, she’d rather it be Terryn and not someone older or stuffier. At least Terryn knows how to have a little fun on the job, even if she has to coax him into it. 

“So about the festival,” she starts one day. They’re in the ballroom, and she’s counting chairs and tables as Uncle Ez’s staff set them up.

Terryn raises an eyebrow at her. “Don’t you have to be - y’know - here?”

“Not the whole time.” Sarai pauses in her counting to glance at him from the corner of her eye. “Dad’s been pretty understanding about it,” she adds mildly. “I’m going one way or another, but as long as I’m here for all the formal stuff, it doesn’t matter.”

“But I’m on duty that night.”

“Then you would be remiss in your _ duty _ if you let me sneak out on my own.” She smirks at him, mischief dancing in the pale violet of her eyes. 

Terryn scowls at her. “Are you _ trying _ to get me fired?”

“You won’t get fired,” says Sarai shortly. When she catches him frowning at her, she shrugs. “What? It’s true. You’d be more likely to get fired if you _ knowingly _let me sneak out and didn’t come with me. You don’t seriously think Uncle Soren’d disapprove of it when your entire job right now is to, quote/unquote, ‘keep me out of trouble’, do you?”

“That’s not the point,” snaps Terryn. It comes out uncharacteristically terse, and the complaint spills from his lips before he has the chance to remember to be polite. “I have other responsibilities now, Sarai, I can’t keep sneaking off with you just because you don’t want to deal with yours.”

Sarai bristles at him. “Don’t then,” she sneers. “At least you actually _ want _ your responsibilities. Don’t you _ dare _ lecture me about mine.”

For a moment, it looks like he might argue. Honestly, Sarai _ wants _ him to. She _ is _ irresponsible and immature and she knows it - and he _ shouldn’t _ feel uncomfortable for calling her out on her on it. It’s a strange feeling, to want to be scolded. Maybe it’s because, for once, it might feel like she doesn’t have a title hanging over her head. 

But he ducks his eyes instead, an embarrassed flush creeping into the light brown of his cheeks. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I… forgot myself.”

That only makes Sarai bristle more. She tempers herself, though. He hasn’t done anything wrong. His manners don’t make him at fault. “Don’t apologise,” she mumbles at last. “I’ll clear it with Uncle Soren. And with my mum and dad, even. Okay? Will you come to the festival then?”

He hesitates, but he nudges her elbow with his in the end, something like a smile gracing his lips. “Sure,” he says. “It’d be kind of mean to leave Lessa in the shop without company anyway.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” laughs Sarai. “An entire evening without us? During a festival?”

Terryn lets out a snort. “She’d probably spend the whole night flirting. No one’d be there to make fun of her.”

“We can’t have that.” Sarai shakes her head, hiding a chuckle in her fist as she turns her eyes back to the ballroom set up. They don’t argue beyond that.

x

The day of the festival and ball rolls around quicker than Ez is prepared for it. He’d thought with Aanya’s help, and with Callum and Rayla’s, they might have been able to take their time with it this time around, but in the flurry of activity, that time is lost. It doesn’t help that Opeli spends a fair amount of it staring disapproving holes into his back, and he can’t even blame her for it because - well - 

Callum’s been back for a week.

They still haven’t talked about it.

They’ve been busy, he keeps telling himself. There are guests and Common Folk to cater for, and their needs, right now, are more important than this one conversation. He avoids the topic entirely, sneaking away when Opeli comes looking and changing the subject when someone brings it up. Twice, Rayla touches on it, but he waves her off and directs her attention to whatever antics Sarai’s been up to instead. It’s cheap, and Sarai probably doesn’t appreciate it, but she’d understand if she knew. He gets the feeling sometimes that she knows more than she lets on anyway.

Dusk falls before he knows it. 

The lamps in the city blink into life one by one, and Ezran watches, envious of the simplicity of life outside of the castle. His people are celebrating peace today. Peace that, ten years ago, seemed impossible, even after the war was done and the treaties were signed. They’ve come a long way, and his people deserve this - but what his people _ deserve _ brings back thoughts of the talk he knows he’s supposed to have. 

“You’re looking pretty melancholy for someone about to open a ball.”

Ez blinks, and when he turns, he finds Rayla, wine in one hand, plate of jelly tarts in the other. He grins at her, snatching a tart off the plate in an effort to hide the grimace that crosses his face.

“Shouldn’t you be in the ballroom already?”

Rayla shrugs at him and sets the plate gently on top of the bannister. “Shouldn’t _you_?”

Ez snorts into the jelly tart. “I just wanted a minute,” he chuckles. “Where’s Sarai?”

“Begging her father to let her go out later,” says Rayla, rolling her eyes. 

“Weird that she’s actually asking for permission.”

“You’re telling me.” Rayla laughs, but Ez isn’t fooled. There’s reluctance in her eyes, and if it were up to her, Ez is pretty certain that there wouldn’t even be an argument. But Sarai’s getting older, and she can’t shelter her forever. At the very least, Rayla knows to remove herself from that decision so that her daughter can have the room she needs to grow. She shakes her head after a moment and sips delicately at her wine. “There’s… something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?”

Ez winces. Of course she would notice. She’s _ Rayla _. She’s a sister to him by law, and she knows him now just as well as Callum does. It can only mean that Callum’s noticed too. 

“Ez.” Rayla purses her lips and frowns at him. “Whatever it is - you can talk to us. Or at least, Callum, if you don’t want to talk about it to me -”

“That’s not it,” says Ez quickly. “I wanted to talk to you together because… well, it concerns you, as well. I just hoped that… maybe if I put it off for long enough, it would have stopped being such a problem. Instead, it just got worse.”

“That tends to be the way of procrastination,” chuckles Rayla, in spite of herself. “Look. We’re here to help. Whatever it is, we’ll do what we can.”

“I know you will,” says Ez. He grins at her - or tries to, anyway - and offers her his arm. “Come on. Let’s get this party started, shall we?”

Rayla grins back. “Let’s.” 

He turns his back to the city and leads her back into the ballroom without another word.

x

“You’re letting her go, then?” 

It comes out probably a little more sour than she intends, but Callum shrugs it off and presses a patient kiss to Rayla’s fingers. She’s pretty tonight, her hair in that loose braid she likes to wear on formal occasions, her dress green and embroidered in silver. Even the scowl set into the line of her lips is endearing and Callum grins, tugging her off his brother’s arm so he can address his court. “She’ll have Terryn with her,” he promises quietly. “They’ll probably just go and get Lessa and hang around to watch the festivities. She’ll be okay.”

Rayla grimaces, obviously displeased, but she knows he’s right. He can see it on her face, along with a frustration at herself for being so needlessly overprotective. She takes a breath.

“Where is she _ now _?”

“Gone to tell Terryn, probably,” says Callum with a shrug. “She promised she’d be here for all the formalities. We can only hold her to it.”

When Rayla says nothing, he squeezes her fingers and tugs her close. “Did you talk to Ez?”

_ That _ snaps her out of it. The irritated little frown on her face is replaced by something closer to concern as she cranes her neck over the crowd to watch Ez address his court from the dais, her eyes narrowed like she’s waiting for _ something _ \- some _ clue _ to whatever’s been on his mind. 

Callum thinks he knows, but it’s always hard to tell with Ez. He’s too good at pretending to be a cheerful young king in a time of peace, but it was silly of him to think he could keep his emotions truly hidden from the two of them. “Maybe the rumours are true, then,” he muses. 

“He wouldn’t keep an arranged marriage from you,” says Rayla. “He wouldn’t _ agree _ to one without your input.”

“Yeah, but if his advisors are forcing his hand -”

“His advisors come second to you.” Rayla sets her jaw, brow furrowed thoughtfully as she sips at her wine. “He said he wanted to talk to both of us. It’s something else.”

x

Uncle Ez’s address is quick this year, but the way her parents are frowning at him from across the ballroom piques Sarai’s interest more than she wants to admit. They mutter to themselves the whole time, and Aunt Aanya, who’s usually happy to gossip with them, is seated primly at her table hiding a frown behind a glass of wine.

When Uncle Ez closes his speech, he hops off the dais looking… nervous, she thinks, and just as Terryn tugs at her elbow, she shakes her head.

Terryn stares at her. “Do you want to go or what?”

Sarai pauses. “Not yet,” she mutters. “You go. I’ll meet you down in the stables.”

“But -” Terryn hesitates. “Uncle Soren said -”

“Yeah, once we _ leave _ ,” says Sarai. “We haven’t left yet. I don’t need protection to get from here to the stables. I need to change anyway. Dunno that you really want to stick around for _ that _.” She smirks at him and the blush that heats his face. “Go. I won’t be long.”

Terryn purses his lips uncertainly, but he nods in the end. He turns on his heel, his armour clanking lightly as he pushes his way through the crowd and to the back of the ballroom, and Sarai waits until he’s disappeared through the double doors before she ducks into the nearest alcove and draws an invisibility rune into the air.

When she peers at Mum and Dad again from behind the shade of her magic, Uncle Ez is beckoning them, Opeli, and Aunt Aanya into the room behind the dais. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and Sarai eases her way through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone and blow her cover. 

It’s not the first time she’s tried to eavesdrop on proceedings from within that room, and she’s familiar enough with the castle to know exactly where she has to go. There’s a high window in there that’s accessible to her from the balcony at the head of the ballroom, and she hitches her skirts up as she goes, careful not to fall as she climbs over the railing and onto the vine.

She seats herself against the sill, bracing her back against the uneven stones. Uncle Ez’s voice is muffled from here, but it’s clear enough for her to hear nonetheless.

“There’s a conversation I’ve been avoiding,” he says quietly. 

Even from here, Sarai can see the way Opeli arches an a stunned eyebrow. “Have you come to a decision then, Your Majesty?” 

“Yes,” says Uncle Ez firmly, but he’s looking at Mum and Dad as he answers. “Katolis needs an heir. Duren needs one too, and we can’t keep pretending things will work themselves out as is. What we need is a compromise and I think I have a solution but - I need your help.”

Dad blinks at him, like he’s surprised Uncle Ez needs to even ask. “Of course,” he says. “Whatever you need, Ez. Just tell us what you want and we’ll do it.”

Uncle Ez takes a breath. “I need you to be king. I’m abdicating my claim to the throne of Katolis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Azlyn, on discord you told me you thought you knew what was gonna happen. Were you right?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This would make her queen, one day, Ezran.”

iv.

  


Sarai forgets how to breathe.

For a moment, she’s not even sure that she heard correctly. Uncle Ez can’t _ abdicate _ . He _ wouldn’t _ abdicate. He cares about his people too much, and knows his duty to them too well. She must have misunderstood. He _ has _ to be joking -

But there’s not a trace of humour in the grim line of his lips, and his eyes have never been harder and more determined.

“_ What? _” manages Opeli at last. She stares at him, eyes wide, jaw unhinged, like she’s waiting for a punchline too. “Y-Your Majesty -”

He cuts her off. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” he says, although there’s a tremor in his voice that makes it sound as if he’s still trying to convince himself of it. “Katolis needs a king that can provide it with a queen and an heir. Callum has both. If I step down, then Aanya has the option to -”

“No,” says Aunt Aanya weakly. She shakes her head, her face pale in the torchlight. “Ezran. _ No. _ I can’t let you do this -”

“My own abdication isn’t up to you.”

_ “No, _ ” snaps Aunt Aanya again. Her voice is harder this time, and there’s a fury in her eyes that makes even Sarai want to look away. “Katolis _ needs _ its king, Ezran. They need _ you. _ You can’t turn your back on them like this.”

“I’m not _ turning my back _ on anyone,” scowls Uncle Ez. He gestures vaguely at Dad. “They’ll be in good hands. _ Better _ hands, even. It’s our best option, Aanya, and -”

“Ez.” That’s Dad. Sarai’s never seen him so stumped by a concept, and he and Mum look at a loss. They’ve never looked like that before. They’ve faced a million and one problems in their duties between elves and humans, and there’s always, _ always _ a solution - but right now, they’re staring at Uncle Ez like they’ve both punched in the gut. “Ez, I can’t.”

Uncle Ez swallows. “Callum. Please understand. I can’t keep doing this to myself, or to Aanya. It’s the only way.”

Dad shakes his head. “I _ can’t _ , Ez,” he says hoarsely. “I’m not - I’m not _ appropriate _ . It - it’s _ fine _ that I’m a last resort, but that’s all I’m supposed to be. I’m only royalty by mom’s marriage to dad - I don’t share dad’s bloodline. I-I _ can’t _ be king.”

“With respect, Your Majesty,” adds Opeli, “there are other implications that you haven’t considered. Imagine how it might look to the other kingdoms if Prince Callum - the most powerful mage _ in the world _ \- took the throne. It would look like a show of power. It would make Katolis look like a _ threat _ -”

“But Callum would _ never _ -”

“I _ know _ I wouldn’t,” says Dad, “but my intentions don’t matter. We’re on good terms with Livana and Fareeda, and Khasef - well - if we don’t bother him, he doesn’t bother us. But if - if _ I _ became king - all of that might change. We can’t afford that.”

“It’s not even just that,” says Mum at last. She clears her throat, and reworks her face into a frown that looks thoughtful and concerned and terrified all at once. “I’m an _ elf _ , Ez. Katolis has come a long way, but I don’t know that your people are ready for an elven _ queen. _ And - and _ Sarai _ -”

Sarai sucks in a gasp. It barely makes it past her throat because she hadn’t even _ thought _ about it - this whole time, she’d been so caught up with the ludicrous idea of Uncle Ez _ not _ being king that she hadn’t even considered what it would mean for her. 

“What about Sarai?” Uncle Ez scowls at them. _ All _ of them. “She’s always been a halfling princess, and as is, she’s _ already _ second in line for the throne. All this does is move her up the chain slightly -”

“She doesn’t _ want _ this,” snaps Mum. “It’s fine _ now _ because she’s only second in line under the assumption that you don’t produce an heir. Do you even understand what you’re asking her to do? This would make her _ queen _, one day, Ezran.”

Sarai shakes her head, wordless. _ Afraid. _ Her palms feel slick with sweat. Her fingers are numb. There’s a hum in her ears that makes it hard to hear anything else, and her heart is hammering against her rib cage so quickly that, for a moment, she thinks it might fail. 

It doesn’t matter. She’s heard enough. 

She scrambles off the ledge with shaking hands and unsteady feet; climbs back onto the balcony, unminding of the way her skirt catches against the vines. When she pushes her way back into the ballroom, she almost balks because suddenly there are too many people, watching her with curious eyes and disapproving frowns. She shoves past them, ignoring the way they bow and curtsey - wishing they _ wouldn’t _ ; wishing they’d _ stop _ \- and wondering vaguely when exactly her invisibility spell had worn off. 

She stumbles through the ballroom, clumsy and faint and unable to breathe - and then she’s running, afraid to look back.

x

“You can’t do this to her, Ez.” Rayla’s voice comes out like a plea, but that’s what it is, when it comes down to it. She shakes her head at him, her fists closed by her sides. “Your people are still getting used to _ me. _ They won’t accept me as their queen. They won’t accept _ her _ if she has to take the throne. She already hates the pomp and circumstance, you can’t ask her to be anything more.”

“I’m not asking _ her _ ,” says Ez, glancing away, his eyes guilty. When he looks up again, he’s looking at Callum. “I’m asking _ you _ . _ Please _ , Callum. You are _ so _ lucky you got the chance to marry for love. I just want a chance to do the same.” He glances at Aanya then, and for the first time, even _ she _doesn’t have it in her to argue.

She stares at her shoes, the conflict clear on her face, because she knows what she wants and that it’s not allowed, and that this really _ is _ their only chance - but gods, it’s so complicated, and there are so many reasons Callum _ shouldn’t _ take Ez’s place on the Katolan throne, and yet -

Callum tears his eyes away from them. He is lucky. He’s lucky that Ez had the foresight to arrange his marriage to Rayla before anyone else had the chance to try for his hand. He’s lucky that Ez knew, before he did, even, how in love with her he’d been all those years ago. How can he do anything else? How can he knowingly obstruct his brother’s only chance at happiness - _ true _ happiness - after everything he’s done for him and his family? 

“Ez…” he begins tiredly. He slumps onto the bench against the wall, his hands over his eyes. 

“Callum,” he hears Rayla say, her voice hoarse and terrified. “Callum, no, we can’t -”

He shakes his head at her. “She’s right, Ez,” he murmurs. “There are so many reasons we can’t do this but -” He huffs. “There’s gotta be something else. Another option. _ Anything _.”

“There isn’t,” mutters Ez. “I’ve thought about this a lot, okay. Believe me. We’ve had _ years _ to mull this over and… it’s this, or we agree to marry people we’ve never even met. At least - at least this way, I know Katolis is in safe hands. _ Please. _”

Callum lets out a sigh. He says nothing for a while. He thinks it might be because he’s afraid of his own answer, and of what it might do to his brother, or to his daughter. “Let me think about it,” he murmurs at last. “Give us a couple of months.”

“I don’t have that long,” whispers Aanya. She doesn’t look at any of them as she says it, but there’s bitterness there; a frustration at herself, and at the complexity of the situation. Callum can see it dancing like fire in the amber of her eyes. 

“One, then.” He glances at Rayla, noting the way she won’t look at him either. “We need time to talk about this. Okay? One month, that’s all I’m asking. Then we’ll make a decision.”

Opeli starts forward, a protest on her tongue, but Callum shakes his head at her.

“I haven’t agreed,” he says sharply. “One month. Okay?”

Silence falls between them. For the longest time, no one says anything - until Opeli nods and bows to all of them. “Of course, Your Highness,” she grumbles. “One month.”

Ez nods too, in the end. “One month,” he breathes. “We can live with that.”

x

“It’s fine.” It’s a whisper - a poor attempt at settling her nerves and slowing her heart, but an attempt nonetheless. Sarai swallows, the heels of her hands pressed into her eyes like the pressure might help her remember how to breathe as she paces and trips and paces some more. 

The halls in the South Wing are empty, which is just as well. She can’t be seen like this. She’s _ better _ than this - she just needs a minute. Just a minute to calm down, and to _ think _ \- 

But Mum’s words echo loudly in her ears and they make her want to throw up.

_ “This would make her queen, one day, Ezran.” _

“_ Gods _ ,” croaks Sarai. “Moon and Stars, get a hold of yourself Sarai, it’s _ fine. _”

It’s not fine, and there’s no way to pretend that it is. She can’t be queen. She barely has it in her to behave like a princess. People bow to her and wait on her, and already, she can’t stand it, but to be first in line for the throne - to have that hanging over her for the rest of her life, and to be expected to _ rule _ \- 

_“Breathe_,” she hisses to herself. “Breathe. Come on. It’s fine. You’re fine.”

“If this is fine, I’d hate to see what your version of ‘upset’ is.”

Sarai yelps. She draws a blade from her back - the one that Mum had given her ages ago - out of instinct - but it’s only Uncle Soren, leaning lazily against the far wall with a half empty bag of popped corn in hand. 

“Uncle Soren!” she manages, lowering her blade. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask the same of you.” He smirks at her and shoves a handful of food past his lips. “Usually, you’d be long gone by now, and there’s no way you’d let _ me _ catch you in the act. You’re losing your touch.”

Sarai scowls at him. “I’m going _ now _,” she snaps. “I just - I needed a minute.”

“Oh?” He pushes himself off the wall and proffers the bag at her. “To do what?”

“I -” Sarai hesitates. For a second, she’s furious. At him for looking so smug? At herself for allowing herself to be caught like this, maybe? She’s not sure. But there’s something sort of… sympathetic in his eyes. Something that knows something’s wrong and that genuinely wants to help. 

He’s always been pretty lax around her. More understanding than Mum sometimes for sure.

“I heard -” She cuts herself off, unsure why she’d started to begin with. But Uncle Soren’s different. He’s just as cheeky as her when he wants to be, and there’s a sort of trust there that she can’t explain. She swallows again. “I overheard… some stuff,” she murmurs at last. 

“Mm, yeah,” drawls Uncle Soren, tossing another piece of popped corn into his mouth. “And water is wet. Go on.”

Sarai takes a breath. “Uncle - Uncle Ez,” she mutters. “He - he wants to -” She snaps her mouth shut, afraid of the reality of it.

Uncle Soren’s lips twitch upwards into a grim sort of smile, and it occurs to Sarai far too late that he already knows. Of course he knows. Uncle Ez would never have told him, but as head of his Crownguard, and as a close personal friend who’s with him almost all day everyday, of _ course _ he would figure it out on his own. “Ah,” is all he says. He frowns at his paper bag thoughtfully and says nothing for a while. Then he coughs. “What are you going to do about it, then?”

“I -” Sarai stares at her feet. “I don’t know,” she says quietly. Her voice cracks under the emotional strain, but she takes another breath - a long, shuddering inhale that swallows the exhale - to keep herself in check. “I just - I dunno, Uncle Soren. I - I can’t be - I can’t be _ here _but I don’t know where else to -”

He snorts at her. “You’re so like your mom,” he chuckles, emptying the bag into his mouth. “Y’know, it’s been ages since you’ve gone to visit Claudia. If, theoretically, you just turned up, I don’t think she’d mind.”

Sarai blinks. When she glances up, Uncle Soren is shrugging at her and scrunching the bag in his fist. “Go,” he says. “Take Terryn with you. Tell Clauds I said hi.”

“I -”

“_ Go _,” he says again. “I can only hold your mom up for so long. If I were you, I’d get out of here while I still had the chance.” He winks at her, his smile kinder and more understanding than she’s ever seen it, and then he turns, leaving Sarai alone in the hall with her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

x

She makes a run for the stables.

Terryn’s already there with Kolibri all saddled and ready to go, and he frowns at her as she leaps over the doorway. Too late, she realizes that she’s still in her formal wear, and that she’d forgotten to get changed in the rush. There’s straw caught in her skirt, and mud in the hem where she’d forgotten to hitch it up and over her shoes; there’s hair falling out of the braid Mum had done up for her earlier this evening, and the anguish is certainly clear on her face, but she doesn’t care.

She just wants to go.

“There’s been a change of plans,” she declares, willing her voice to be steady.

Terryn stares at her. “There’s been a what, now?”

Sarai ignores him and vaults deftly onto Kolibri’s back. “We’re not going to the festival.”

Terryn’s still staring, and he stumbles after her, even as she holds a hand out to him to help him into the saddle behind her. “Where are we going, then?”

Sarai clicks her tongue, easing her stallion out of the stables and out of the postern gate. She glances up at the castle, and for a moment she hesitates, for once afraid of the consequences that might follow. But Mum’s words are still there in her mind, like a ghost haunting her of a future yet to come - 

_ “This would make her queen, one day, Ezran.” _

She steels herself, Kolibri’s reigns tight around her fists. “We’re leaving,” she says shortly. “We’re taking Lessa to Lantha.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god i hope you guys are enjoying this because I am SO NERVOUS about literally everything in this fic


End file.
